My Responsibility
by Kristen999
Summary: Post Tag to "Who Are You" Exactly how does Gil deal with a rattled Nick? Grissom's POV. (One Shot)


Title: My Responsibility

Author: Kristen999

Category: Angst/ Drama

Spoilers: "Who Are You"

Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.

Summary: Post Tag to "Who Are You?" Exactly how does Gil deal with a rattled Nick? Grissom's POV.

Archive: Go ahead. Just let me know.

Notes: Since my next full length story is going to deal with a Nick and Grissom friendship. I decided to get into the supervisor's head as an experiment. This is not betaed.

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Grissom stood outside and watched the patrol car drive away. The red and blue lights bounced around in a dizzyingly fashion, that caused a somewhat disco effect in the dark night. He stood almost rooted in the ground, his feet heavy, as if laden with lead. One of the officers was scribbled notes in his book. His head was still concentrated on his paperwork, but his eyes moved, the pupils reaching the far corners.

"You going back inside, sir?"

Grissom squinted in the darkness, the voice startled him out of his thoughts. He could still make out a glimmer of light from the retreating vehicle, the dimming illumination was quite hypnotic. Instantly he realized he had drowned out all the noise around him. This included the loud booming voice in his head. The one that had screamed at him for his negligence.

He shook it, as if trying to disentangle the cobwebs that managed spin themselves within his thought processes.

"What?" He asked dumbly.

The officer, whose name the supervisor had all ready forgotten, stared at him with pity. "First time you pull your weapon?"

Grissom's brow furrowed. The lawman's tone was not laced with hostilely. Some patrol men viewed criminalists like scientists whose glasses were too far up their noses for their own good. Sure the CSIs carried guns and were trained to fire them to defend themselves. However, it was a very rare occasion that an entomologist, like himself ever packed heat

Heat

He never referred to it as that. No, someone else liked to use that word.

Grissom thought back to Warrick' s case, how the officer that was investigated mocked them all. It was the beat cop who protected citizens, while the CSIs scavenged around for minuscule remnants of a crime...the after thoughts. The graveyard supervisor had tried to reign in his temper at the scuffle that broke out in his lab.

It was his inner sanctum.

'I hope I never have to,' echoed in his head.

"I've pulled my gun out before." He said simply, his tone even and neutral.

"Has _he _ever had one drawn on him?" The cop questioned.

Grissom licked dry lips. "No."

With that sad, cold truth, the criminalist dragged his feet up the steps to check on his criminalist.

Grissom walked quietly through the house, into the spare room that housed the aquarium. He noticed the discarded latex gloves that laid on the wooden floor. Grissom eyed the items, and gazed at his colleague standing in the corner. Nick Stoke's back was to him, both his hands were on the wall. His forehead simply rested on the cool interior. A slight tremor seemed to wrack his body, almost like a constant shiver.

Grissom wandered over to the younger man. How old was Nick? 31? 32?

The supervisor gently placed his hand on Nick's shoulder.

The criminalist, flinched, his head whipped around in fear at the unannounced approach. A string of profanities echoed in Grissom's head. What kind of idiot was he? You don't go sneaking up on a man who just had a gun shoved in his face.

"Damn, Grissom!" Nick admonished. He wiped a hand across his face to try to erase the evidence of his emotional turmoil.

Nick took a shaky breath and stalked past him. He hugged himself tightly to ward away the fear that seemed to have a strong grip on his demeanor. Grissom didn't know what to say, what the correct words were in a situation like this. He wasn't a people person, insects didn't expect conversation.

Nick's back was turned to him again, and his entire body still trembled uncontrollably. Grissom rubbed his wrist over his face and noted the clamminess of his own flesh. It was only then that he realized how fast his heart was racing in his chest. He checked his own pulse out of habit. He willed himself to calm down, to decrease the rapidness of the blood flow that thundered in his ears.

He tried to collect himself for the benefit of his CSI. He closed his own eyes tightly. He pictured a solid wall of black A void full of emptiness. If he concentrated on the absence of color, then all those nagging voices in his head would disappear for a while. The trick worked and he wandered over to the younger man. Instead of touching him, Grissom walked in front of Nick. He made sure he was completely in his line of vision.

"You're shaky like a leaf, Nicky."

Nick kept his gaze towards the floor. The younger man pulled his arms from beneath his sides and studied them like they were something other the extensions of the fear that was evident in all his movements. Grissom watched at the investigator seemed to wage some internal struggle. Nick stared at his hands. It was obvious he was trying to command them still, but they would not obey. The Texan looked at them in defeat and exhaled a long breath. His CSI never looked at him in the eyes. The humiliation at his body's betrayal was obvious.

Grissom worked his jaw slowly one side to the next. "Come on, we're getting out of here. Someone else can process the scene. Faye Green waited five years for her justice, another night won't really matter."

Nick looked up, his dark brown eyes were a sea of torrential emotions. Embarrassment. Confusion.

Again Grissom had no magic words to say, he glanced down at the floor. The lacquered wood flooded with images of dark blood, and splatter from the impact of a gunshot from close range. Grissom swallowed. Then he took his CSI's elbow and lead him up the stairs and ignored the somewhat shocked expression being shot his way.

The entomologist waited for his criminalist to speak. To say something flippant and to try to brush way the actions of the night with some humorous remark meant to make them both feel better. Nick didn't utter a word. In fact he seemed a bit unsteady on his feet. Grissom moved his hand to grip Nick's arm and lead him towards the car. It seemed like the investigator was just trying to move one foot in front of the other.

The flesh of Nick's arm was cold, and Grissom could feel the small goosebumps there.

Nick was lead to the passenger seat. Grissom got behind the wheel and drove back to the lab in silence. He didn't turn on the radio. His head was filled with some of his own overwhelming noise. He steered the Tahoe back almost automatically. His hands guided them back by pure habit. Gil turned on the heater in the car on full blast and allowed the warmth to fill the void he could not.

The older man glanced back at his CSI. Nick simply stared ahead with a somewhat blank expression clouding his features. The passing headlights cast weird shadows across his face. Grissom parked the car and killed the engine. His passenger's gaze never faltered. The supervisor's frown deepened.

Grissom got out of the car and hurried to the other side. Maybe the lab wasn't the best place to be at this very moment, but it was the instinctual place to turn to. It had some of Nick's friends, people whose vocabulary didn't fail them. The logical side of him explained in a very reasonable way, that this was where his CSI's truck was parked. Nick still had to get home, right?

Grissom chased away any thoughts of driving the investigator there himself. That would require directions...speaking...stuff that wasn't something he was able to deal with just yet. Grissom stood there, absorbing all his nice neat explanations, when he realized that the source of all his thoughts still hadn't gotten out of the car. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he yanked open the door.

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

Grissom gnawed on his bottom lip. "Come on," he commanded.

The younger man blinked rapidly, as if it just dawned on him where he was. Sluggishly he peeled himself out of his seat, and shuffled his way towards the lab. Grissom walked beside him as they both entered the lobby and made their way through several hallways. It was in the middle of the night, only halfway through the graveyard shift. Most of the people who drifted in and out of the labs didn't pay much attention to the two men. If an employee gave them a strange look, the supervisor's warning glare sent them away.

"Where we goin'?

Nick's voice was so quiet and laden with such a heavy Texan accent, that it took a moment for Grissom to understand the question. "Break room," he said simply.

Truth be told he wanted to take him to his office. It was nice and private, with no prying eyes. Unfortunately a couch was only in the break room, and the older man hoped it would be vacant. Catherine was bound to be home after her ordeal with her ex-husband, but his other team members might still be around. Involved in cold cases. The aforementioned officer involved shooting had finally been rectified.

Grissom grimaced inwardly when he opened the breakroom door. Greg Sanders was in the middle of some weird gyration in what must have been some chaotic attempt of a dance move, much to the bemused expression of Warrick Brown. The lab tech, had his hands in the air, in the mist of a hip thrust. He quickly dropped them in embarrassment, when the supervisor walked in.

Warrick tried to hide a mischievous smile. Everyone knew the tech worried about his reputation around the older man. Warrick looked over at the both of them and his expression quickly radiated worry. The taller CSI's eyes darted back and fourth between the supervisor and his best friend.

"Go sit down, Nick," Grissom directed in a soft voice.

Nick looked all the world like he wanted to be anywhere but in the breakroom. Faced with three of his coworkers. He trudged his way to the sofa and sat heavily into it. He leaned his head back. Then he draped his left arm over his face to block the light from his eyes.

Warrick and Greg watched in bewilderment and both turned towards their boss for an explanation. "What's' goin on, Griss?" Warrick asked.

Grissom thought about telling both his coworkers to just go away and leave the criminalist in peace. However, were they not the ones to help in this situation? It was his job to delegate.

Then how come the voice inside his head was still screaming at him, he thought.

"Close call with a suspect," he replied in a low voice. He hoped that the simple explanation would be all he needed to say. He looked past them to see if Nick was even aware that a conversation about this night was even taking place.

Greg wrapped his arms around himself and nervously glanced at the silent CSI and back over to his boss. "A close call?"

Grissom didn't answer the lab tech right away. What was it that he was going to say? 'I left Nick alone with a witness who turned out to be a murder suspect.'

Warrick scowled, he wandered over to his friend and squatted down next to him. "Hey man. You want to get some coffee somewhere? Talk about it?"

Nick didn't move. "Nah. Its cool, bro. I still got paperwork to fill out," a muffled and unconvincing voice replied.

Grissom heard the exhaustion in that voice. Knowing that Warrick and Greg were probably better people for him to hang out with, he turned around and slipped away to head to his office. He had a bottle of brandy somewhere in one of his drawers.

Gil had made it half way down the hall when he heard heavy footsteps behind him. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder that forced him to turn around and face the person who had chased after him.

Warrick Brown stared coldly at him. His eyes were filled with anger and his body rigid with tension. "Where the hell do ya think you're goin'?"

Grissom looked confused. Since when did Warrick Brown CSI Level 3 speak to him, using that kind of tone? "To my office. I have a report to fill out. I think it would be best if you stayed in the break room and kept an eye on Nicky." Grissom felt that was all he needed to say and turned on his heel to continue to towards his designation.

"The Hell you're just going to sneak off to your lair, Griss. You need to go back in there and talk to Nick. "

Grissom looked at him in confusion. "I want him to take the rest of the night off. I'll arrange for him to meet with a councilor later this week to talk about this."

Warrick shook his head vehemently. The other CSI studied his supervisor's posture. "How close 'was' it?"

Grissom opened his mouth to speak, then he looked past the lanky man. "Amy Hendler had Nick backed up in a room...a gun pointed at his face. She was apologizing for what she _was going to do_." Grissom looked into dark green eyes. "She was seconds away from pulling the trigger."

There he said it.

He didn't feel any better. No great weight was lifted from his shoulders. A burden still lingered and made him even more weary.

"You arrived in time to talk her down and disarmed her. Nick gave me some half mumbled version of the same story." Warrick's tone of voice was laden with some hidden accusation.

Grissom arched an eyebrow. "Yes."

Warrick crossed his arms in front of him, his intent could only be described as hostile "Go back in there and talk to him about it."

The supervisor was about to ask him why. Then something about that nagging voice in his head had all ready forced him down the corridor and back towards his responsibility. Warrick remained in the hallway only slightly satisfied

The older man reentered the room. Greg was chatting nonstop about some new video game that he had bought, but it was obvious that Nick was only half paying attention to him. The tech saw the serious mood radiate from his boss. He froze in his tracks.

"I-I got some work to do in the lab," he said in some vain attempt at an excuse and scurried away.

Greg brushed by him and whispered in his ear. "I gave him my lab coat, he's shivering in here and the heats turned up."

Grissom got the hint and made his way over to the sofa. He took off glasses and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. Nick still wouldn't look at him in the eye. It was really starting to bug him. He sat down next to the younger man.

"I'm sorry Nicky."

Nick Stokes let a small laugh escape him. He looked up his mentor and shook his head. "Sorry for what, Griss? I'm the one that almost got myself killed tonight."

Grissom straightened to attention with that statement. "Nick, no. That's not it at all."

"Why? A cooler head prevailed. I turned my back to her. It didn't even occur to me, to escort her outside, before I started processing. I mean, damn it...she stuck up right behind me. Didn't even know she had a gun till I heard the cocking of the trigger."

Nick's face blanched as he vocalized what had been obviously replaying in his mind for who knew how many times. He kept his hands in his lap. The small tremble was a bit more prevalent now. He glanced down and cursed. "Damn it. I still got the shakes for cryin' out loud."

"Look at me, Nick."

Nick shoved his hands in his lab coat and glanced at his boss tentatively.

"Our job is to pursue the bad guys. To out think them and to collect evidence they did not know they left behind."

Grissom adjusted how he sat, never taking his eyes off the younger man in front of him. "It's _my_ job to train those under me and provide them guidance. I'm the one that left you alone. I'm the one that dismissed Mrs. Hendler as a threat."

Nick looked confused and opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm talking here Nick. Don't interrupt me," Grissom said rather tersely, cutting him off.

"I didn't see the signs. I jumped to conclusions...followed the evidence... Yes... but misinterpreting it. Even though I thought the husband did it. I should have made sure an officer was still inside the house. We're not cops, Nicky, we're scientists. There's a reason why we have procedures about having the police around when interviewing suspects and exploring the scene."

Grissom watched his criminalist digest the information he was giving him. Some lingering doubt marred Nick's features. The voices in his own head were finally being a bit quieter. "I don't like to think that we may face the danger involved in our jobs. I don't normally carry a weapon... I'm glad I did tonight."

Nick looked thoughtful. He allowed a small smile. "So am I."

Grissom grabbed Nick's shoulder and shook the man good naturally. "Come on. I'm going to share with you something that very few get to experience."

Nick Stokes actually looked shocked. "Yeah? What's that?"

Grissom grinned. "You'll see."

Nick stood up. The color was back in his face, the tremors were not as noticeable. "Let me go to my locker. Get my jacket."

Grissom watched as his CSI left the room. He stood there, his mind relaxed somewhat now that the nagging voice was silent. He dug through his pocket to retrieve his glasses and put them back on. He left to follow Nick towards the lockers and noticed Warrick lurking in the hallway.

The supervisor glanced at him and the taller man nodded. Grissom walked by without a word. He felt a little bit better about the situation. Maybe, just maybe, he might be good at the whole supervisor thing after all.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who has left comments recently about these latest shorts. They have been fun. Expect a very angsty full story soon!

To those who e-mailed me about "Release". I watched too much of season 3 of late. But I tell you, Nick has a thing about birds!


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